For a heartbeat, the lightning flickered. The cold gaze wavered, and a flash of the old, mischievous Luck peaked through—a boy who just wanted to play.

"Hey," Luck whispered, his voice shaky but his own. "That was... a pretty good fight."

Asta let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and grinned back, tears pricking his eyes. The battle for the kingdom was far from over, but for a moment, the Black Bulls were whole again.

Rufel laughed, a sound like tearing metal. "This body is just a vessel. Your 'friend' is gone, human. There is only the light of the Elves now."

Asta nodded, his resolve hardening. He didn't just need his sword; he needed his heart. He felt the Black Form taking over, the dark anti-magic wing sprouting from his shoulder. He became a blur of shadow, clashing against the lightning.